Coming Home
by Danea
Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it’s five years later and he’s back, like it or not.
1. Prologue

Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...

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"_**This time I think I'm to blame. It's harder to get through the days.**_

_**You get older and blame turns to shame"- Sorry by Buckcherry**_

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It was too quiet in the basement, he decided. It made Hyde feel antsy, uneasy. He was use to the hustle and bustle of his friends, their easy conversation serving as comforting background noise. But everyone was busy, off doing something else. So it was just Hyde, all alone. He wasn't use to that sort of quiet.

He needed something to break up the silence. He wasn't in the mood for music, so that just left one option. Sighing, he stood to flip on the television. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. As he reached the knob, the side door opened suddenly, letting in a cold blast of air from outside. He glanced up and that was when he caught sight of her in the doorway.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, a pretty pink that he thought looked much nicer on her than the blush she applied religiously. But he wasn't supposed to be noticing that anymore. It wasn't his place.

He assumed she'd come down to the basement to confront him. He could see the gleam in her eyes, so he readied himself for a fight, ready to be verbally beaten down by her sharp tongue. He was use to the fighting now. It was all they seemed to do.

"Jackie, don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked the girl, settling back into his chair. "Somewhere that is not here?"

"Steven..." She stepped cautiously into the room. "I want to talk to you."

"Um, no," he said flatly, ignoring the pleading note hidden in her voice.

"No?" she repeated, and he heard a hint of her usual, fiery attitude. But her fire seemed dimmed now. It was his fault, he knew.

"I just have something to say. Please," Jackie sighed, seeming more upset than annoyed.

He looked at her then. She looked so damn sad. It was just too much. Hyde had an urge to hug her, to pull her into his arms right there. Instead, he snorted, "I'm not your boyfriend anymore, Jackie. I don't have to listen to you."

"I know," she said, her voice breaking slightly, as if she was about to cry. She swallowed hard before she continued, "But I'm hoping you'll still talk to me."

He started to reply, to remind her that he had better things to do than listen to his ex-girlfriend whine. But he couldn't. Not when there were tears shining in her eyes. So he swallowed too, refusing to say anything at all.

She took it as permission to continue.

"Everything happened so fast, Steven, we haven't even had a chance to talk about it. About Michael and Chicago. And about Sam." She paused, grimacing, then continued.

"I'm not ready to just give up on us," she said firmly. "Not if we have a chance. You matter too much to me, Steven. I want to be with you."

Hyde's stomach felt heavy. "Whatever, Jackie," he shrugged, trying to ignore the turmoil on the inside.

"I'm going to keep talking, Steven," Jackie said, her hands moving to her hips. The tears were still bright in her eyes, but she seemed determined. "No matter how much you pretend not to care. I'm going to fight for us."

He glanced up at her, into her beautiful eyes. For a moment, he was lost in them. But in the back of his mind, he kept replaying the bad moments of their relationship. The tears she'd cried over him. The fights. Everything. All the pain. And he knew what he had to do. He knew if she couldn't be strong enough to walk away from their disaster of a relationship, he'd have to make her.

Standing now, he faced her, making sure to keep eye contact so she wouldn't doubt the words he said. "Jackie, I don't want you to fight for us. There is no us, not anymore. What I want is for you to leave me alone."

"What?" Confusion crossed her face as she regarded him.

"I want you to just move on, Jacks. We're done, for good."

Silence returned to the basement as the pair faced off. Jackie seemed to be trying to see through his words, disbelief coloring her eyes. His mask stayed in place. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

"You want me to move on?" Jackie asked, her voice just above a whisper. "Is that what you really want? Honestly?" Her eyes were wide, pleading.

Hyde's jaw tensed. He realized he wouldn't be able to go on any further if he looked straight in her eyes, so he stared at the wall behind her instead. "I'm married, Jackie. So, yes, I want you to move on. For good."

"But..." she began, her eyes filling with tears once more.

"No, Jackie. No more." His voice didn't shake. That was something to be proud of. "I'm with Sam. Forever. End of story." He'd managed to put real authority behind the words, so much so that he'd almost believed them. Almost.

But then Jackie did something that wiped away all signs of Hyde's control. She kissed him. A hard, fierce kiss full of the words neither one could say. He hadn't had time to react before her small form was molding itself so well against his.

And he didn't stop her. He couldn't. Not when her arms reached up around his neck. Not when she began to tug at the buttons on his shirt. And not when she led him to the bedroom, still tangled in his arms.

He waited until she was asleep to leave. He figured he owed her that. It was well after midnight by then, so he'd quietly left the basement through the back door. He left Sam a simple handwritten note;

"I'm leaving. I won't be back. Go home. Thanks for everything."

It might read as callous, but he knew she'd understand. When they'd met, she'd told him about her failing marriage. He'd agreed to the sham wedding anyway, needing his own escape. But they'd both known it would end at some point. Now was as good a time as any.

He didn't leave a note for Jackie. There was nothing he could put down that would make her understand.

Hyde debated on packing a few things, but there was nothing he wanted to take. If this was going to be a clean break, he needed to leave everything behind. So, with the clothes on his back and his wallet in his pocket he left.


	2. Five Years Gone

Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...

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"_**And instead of wishing that it would get better**_

_**Man you're seeing that you just get angrier."- Angry by Matchbox 20**_

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**Five years later**

The sun played peek-a-boo behind a cloud, flashing shadows across the parking lot. Steven Hyde watched his feet as he strode quickly across the pavement, watching them step in and out of the dark spots. It was hot. Hot enough that a sticky sweat was forming under his arms and at the base of his spine. It made him feel irritable, on edge.

Not that it took much these days, Steven thought to himself. Someone bumping his arm on the sidewalk. Someone singing a song he didn't like, didn't want to remember. And dark haired girls. They were the worst.

The people he worked with never said anything to his face, but he'd heard the whispers. Hair-trigger. Hard-ass. Jerk. And a lot of other names that he guessed they didn't repeat in front of their mama's.

It didn't bother him. Not really. In fact, he found it amusing. The kids he paid minimum wage to work the music store thought he, Steven Hyde, was a hard-ass. Good. It put fear in their minds and made them work harder. Which meant he didn't have to work as hard, and that was always a good thing.

His birth father, WB, had given him many lectures on the right managerial style, which apparently didn't include physical threats and cursing. But Steven let it all roll of his back. If WB hadn't fired him yet, he figured it wasn't happening.

He sighed as he approached his car, already glad for the escape it provided. As he fumbled with his keys, he glanced up to see another car pulling into the parking lot. And right into his damn car!

"What the hell?" Steven shouted as the two cars met with a screech of metal. Before the momentum had even slowed, he was at the other driver's door, yanking on the handle.

"Get outta the car, man!" he screamed when he realized the door was locked.

A young boy, one he vaguely recognized as a customer, stared back up at him in horror. He was saying something, maybe a prayer. But Steve couldn't hear him through the glass.

"I said get out, now! I'm gonna kick your ass!" Steven jiggled the handle, but the door refused to open. A snarl started at the back of his throat. In one swift movement, he slammed his foot into the door; proud to see the dent it left behind.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! So sorry!" the kid cried as he finally opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"You hit my car!"

"I'm sorry!" the boy repeated.

"You're going to pay for this. Every cent it takes to repair!" Steven jabbed a finger in his direction and the boy jumped back. "And then some!"

The boy paled, started to stutter in his rush to answer. "I-I-I don't h-h-have that k-kind of money!"

"Don't have it?" Steven repeated, locking a glare on the boy.

"I'm sorry!"

Steven's whole body tensed. The heat was making his temple throb in time with his heart, and his anger was burning white hot now. His patience, what little he had, was now gone. With exaggerated slowness, he stepped closer to the boy.

"Ok, we'll try this again," he hissed through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and glared at the teenage boy standing before him. "You hit my car. Now you're going to pay."

"Yeah, but..." the kid began. Steven didn't let him finish.

"No buts. You hit my car, you little shit. I'm going to make you pay for every cent!" He gestured at the dent in his front end.

"I'm sorry!" The boy's voice had a whiny edge to it, and Steven had a brief flash of Eric Forman. He'd always been a whiner, too. It was one trait Steven was really beginning to hate in people.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Steven repeated with a sneer. "This car cost more than your parents make in a year. And you're sorry?" He took a step closer to the boy, his fists clenched. The teenager looked as if he was either going to be sick or to start to cry. Or maybe both.

"Okay, that's enough now. Back off." The voice was jokingly chiding, but with a hard tone behind it. Steven knew better than to ignore it. He took a few reluctant steps back. He was pleased to see the kid nearly fainted with relief. "I think that's enough from you, Steven," WB said, stepping in front of him.

"Fine, whatever." Steven shrugged, crossing his arms as his father, WB, inspected the damage himself.

"This isn't so bad, Steven," WB said after a moment. "We have insurance to cover this. And I'm sure Andrew will be willing to work off whatever debt is left, right?" The young boy nodded quickly. "So no harm done!"

"He still hit my damn car," Steven muttered, still glaring at Andrew. The younger boy swallowed nervously, not meeting Steven's gaze.

WB sent him a warning glance. "Andrew, go on home and I'll call your parents later to work something out," he instructed. "We'll get this taken care of."

Relieved, Andrew quickly crossed to his car, backing out of the parking space in one hurried movement and pulling off one of Steven's headlights in the process. Steven bit back a yell. When Andrew was gone, WB turned back to Steven.

"What the hell was that?" he cried facing his son.

Steven raked a hand through his hair, a frustrated gesture. "The stupid kid can't park! He rammed the front of my car!"

WB shook his head. "He tapped it. And it was an accident. You blew up and nearly scared him to death. That kid spends every cent of allowance he gets at our store. It's called customer service, Steven."

"He's just some punk kid. We've got ten more of him inside right now," Steven pointed out. "I should have kicked his scrawny little ass."

"I don't care how many customers we have, every one is important," WB said. "And more important than that, he's just a boy! That's hardly a fair fight. You've got a real anger problem, son. Maybe it's time you took care of it."

"I don't have an anger problem. I don't have any problems," Steven snorted. "I'm rich now, remember? Everything is la-di-freaking-da around here."

WB didn't reply, but the look he aimed at Steven was tinged with sadness and maybe a little regret. He headed back towards the store entrance, leaving Steven standing alone in the parking lot.

It was after six, which meant the store would be closing soon. They never stayed open past seven on a weeknight. Usually, Steven would be inside helping his father with the end of day procedures. But he had a feeling WB wasn't exactly looking for his help at the moment.

Instead, he decided it was time for a drink. His favorite bar was only down the block, so no point in driving. He was planning on getting wasted, anyway.

It was his typical weeknight routine. Close up the store, head down to the bar, and drink until he couldn't hold up a bottle any more. At some point, WB would send a car for him and he'd wake up in his own apartment the next morning just in time for work. He rarely strayed from his routine.

Tonight was no different. The bartender already had his beer open and waiting for him when he made his was to his usual stool. As Steven took the first sip, he felt his anger begin to shrink, pulling away from the surface and back inside where it usually sat, ready and waiting for the next trigger to set him off.

He finished the first quickly and motioned for a second. Then a third. And fourth. All in quick succession. As he started on his fifth, he finally turned to survey the rest of the crowd.

Mostly older men, some alone, others not. Those at the bar were quiet, solo. The noisy crowd tended to stick to the area with the pool tables and jukebox. Tonight it looked like a group of college kids had commandeered both pool tables. The four guys seemed to be playing pool while their dates talked amongst themselves in the corner. Steven grimaced, annoyed by the laughing group.

As he took another swig of his beer, one of the girls caught his eye. She had her back to him, so all he could really see was her dark hair, which fell in soft curls to just below her shoulders. She looked familiar. Too familiar. Steven felt a hole rip open in his chest and he forced himself to look away.

"Another one, now," he called to the bartender, gesturing towards the now empty bottle in his hand.

He began to drink with renewed purpose. Before long, he knew he was drunk. The room had taken on a fuzzy edge and his whole body felt warm, almost overheated.

The group by the pool table was louder now. Steven had the urge to tell them to shut up, that they were taking away the pleasure he found in being totally smashed. He stood, intending to make his way to the other side of the bar, away from them. But then he saw it.

One of the guys was glued to the dark haired girl he'd seen earlier. He had her pressed up against a corner, with his hands playing just under her shirt. When his hand slid down, reaching for the hem of her too-small skirt, Steven saw red.

"Hey, you jackass!" he screamed, stumbling at a half-run towards the couple. "Get your hands off of her!" He reached them before anyone could stop him, and yanked them apart.

His fist slammed into the guy's face three times before someone pulled him off. There was blood on his knuckles when he glanced down. He'd felt a bone crack. Probably broken the assholes nose, he thought with an internal grin.

There was frenzied shouting all around. He was pushed to the floor by many pairs of hands, and forced to lie on his back as a knee went into his stomach keeping him down.

From that position, he was finally able to see the girl's face. She looked terribly frightened and near tears, but her face wasn't familiar at all. Her eyes were too small, her nose the wrong shape. Even her lips, small and thin, were wrong. And close up her hair was actually a burnt red rather than the rich raven color he'd seen across the room.

Steven couldn't contain his laughter. No, the girl didn't look like anyone he knew. Not at all. And the fact that he thought she had only made him wish he'd kept his eyes on his beer.

WB picked him up personally rather than sending a car. He didn't say a word to Steven, but quietly slipped both the bartender and the guy with the bloody nose a few folded bills.

Steven closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. The beer was starting to wear off, and he felt vaguely sick to his stomach. He was looking forward to getting home and going to bed.

He dozed off, drifting in and out. But when he realized they'd been driving far too long, his eyes flew open. They were on the outskirts of town now, a few miles from his apartment and heading the wrong direction.

"What the hell?" he cried, turning to look at WB.

Without meeting his gaze, WB calmly said, "I'm taking you to stay with some friends, Steven. I've never been good at this father stuff, and you've got some problems I can't solve for you."

"Friends? Where?" He had a sinking sensation in his stomach.

WB paused only a moment before replying, "Point Place, Steven. I've already spoken with the Forman's and they're expecting you."


	3. Home

Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...

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"_**Look at you now, look at you now. You're put in your place, put in your place." Familiar by Incubus**_

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The smell of baking cookies warmed the Forman kitchen. Kitty bent to pull them out of the oven, frowning a bit at she glanced them over. They were a bit too browned around the edges. She wondered if she had time to redo a batch.

"Did he say what time they'd arrive?" Kitty asked, scooping the cookies off of the baking sheet and onto a cooling rack.

"They had just stopped for gas outside of town, so it should be soon," Red answered, noting his wife's nervous demeanor. "Relax, Kitty."

"I'm sorry, Red. I'm just so nervous! And these cookies look just awful. I should start over," she sighed, glancing at the flour still out on the counter.

Red motioned for her, taking her hand as she neared and pulling her towards the seat next to him. He looked into his wife's eyes as he spoke.

"Kitty, the cookies aren't important. I don't want you to get your hopes up about having Steven back here. From what WB said, he has some real problems."

Kitty frowned again, "Well, I know that. I just want to make him feel welcome!"

"Look, he's not too happy about being brought back here. I don't want you to get hurt when he isn't thrilled to see us." Red sighed as he watched his wife's expression.

"I'm just happy he's coming home," Kitty declared, standing up.

"Kitty..."Red began again, but she shushed him.

"And I don't care what Steven says or does, deep down he'll be glad to be home, too," Kitty said firmly. "Now, should I put out juice or water? I know WB said no alcohol! Oh! Maybe lemonade?"

Red looked as if he wanted to say something more, but just sighed again. "Whatever." No matter what he said, his wife had high hopes for Steven's homecoming. Unfortunately, Red had a feeling it was going to be more like a disaster.

When Kitty heard the car turning into the driveway a few moments later, she nearly dropped the pitcher of lemonade in her hands. "They're here!" she exclaimed, smoothing out her skirt. "Oh Red, they're here!"

WB entered through the sliding glass door. Red stood to greet him and they shook hands with matching grim expressions.

"Where's Steven?" Kitty asked, buzzing with nervous energy.

"He's in the car. Asleep, I think," WB said, gesturing towards the car with a frown. "Or maybe just passed out."

"How was the drive?" Red asked.

"The drive was fine. The company was a little rough." WB sighed. "He's pretty angry, though he seems resigned. I don't think he'll take off, but he won't be pleasant. It'll be tough."

"We can manage," Red nodded.

"That's why I called you," WB replied.

The two men shared a meaningful glance, but Kitty seemed oblivious to them. She was staring hard at the car parked in the driveway, as if willing Steven to emerge.

"Would you like a drink?" Kitty offered politely, though still somewhat distracted.

"No, thank you. I've actually got to get back on the road. Everything was sort of sudden. I didn't have time to cover the store," WB explained. "And it's probably best if I don't stay long. He not too happy with me."

"Sure," Red nodded.

"I'll go wake him and bring him in." WB went back out, leaving Kitty and Red alone again.

"I should go get Eric's room ready. He'll probably just want to nap for a bit," Kitty said, already moving towards the living room.

"No, Kitty. You will not be babying him," Red said firmly.

"Well, now, he's just like one of my babies," Kitty cried, hands on her hips. "I have the right to baby him!"

"Kitty, listen," Red began, taking her hands. "I've known a lot of men that had the same sort of troubles as Steven. And all the coddling in the world won't fix them. He needs structure, discipline, rules."

Kitty frowned, not quite agreeing with her husband, but Red went on, "I need you with me on this, Kitty."

Her frown deepened, but she nodded. "Fine. I don't like it, but I understand." She crossed her arms in front of her. "We'll talk more about this later, Red Forman."

The door opened again before Red could reply and for the first time in five years Steven Hyde stepped into the Forman's kitchen again. His eyes were dark, angry, and he didn't meet Kitty's hopeful gaze.

"Steven!" she smiled. "It's so good to see you, honey!"

He didn't answer, but Kitty kept her bright smile as she moved towards him. "Come now, sit down," she instructed, pulling out a chair for him.

WB entered the room, carrying a single suitcase. He handed it to Red, and then turned to Steven.

"I'll call to check in on you later, son," WB said, gently patting his boy's shoulder.

"Don't bother," Steven snorted.

WB just shook his head. Red walked him to the door, both quiet. There wasn't much to say. When WB had first called for Red's help, there had been awkwardness between the men. Now they both felt a silent understanding pass between them. WB wouldn't be calling again. He'd never been a true father to Steven and he couldn't now. That's why he had called. In a way, he was giving his grown son to Red.

They regarded each other evenly.

"Have a safe drive," Red finally said, shaking hands with the other man once more.

"Good luck," WB replied. And then he was gone.

Just a few moments later, Steven was seated at the Forman's kitchen table, his arms crossed defensively in front of him. He had ignored the plate of cookies Kitty had placed in front of him, choosing to glare at far wall instead.

"I really am just so glad you're here," Kitty cried, breaking the silence. She reached out, as if to take his hand, but then thought better of it. "Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, a damn ride home," Steven growled.

"Watch your tone," Red warned, his eyes narrowing.

Seeing the look, Steven forcibly swallowed back whatever reply he was going to give and settled for a muttered, "Whatever." He sunk lower in his chair, hoping the chair would disappear and the floor would swallow him whole. Anything to get him out of the place he'd been running from.

"Now, it's okay," Kitty said as she patted Red's hand, her tone placating. "Steven's had a rough day."

"No, Kitty," Red shook his head. "Steven is not going to be living on excuses anymore. It's time to pull his head out of his ass."

Steven's anger bubbled over again, and he leaned towards Red. "Screw you, man! The only reason I'm here is because WB was sick of playing Daddy! This is the last place I wanted to come!" he jumped to his feet. "I don't need you or this tough love bullshit!"

Red, who had silently listened through Steven's rant, rose to meet his angry gaze. "You through, son?" he asked, his voice dangerously controlled.

"Hell no, I'm not!" Steven shouted. "You're not even my real parents! I don't need this crap from you or anyone else I'm a grown man now, dammit!"

"Steven!" Kitty cried, also jumping to her feet.

"Just stop it!" Steven held his hands up, as if warding off Kitty's advances. "I don't want your help or your love," he sneered.

"Alright, Steven. That's enough!" Red shouted. He pointed a finger in Steven's face, forcing the younger man to look at him. "I won't hear one more word out of you!"

"Excuse me?"

"No more talking, young man! You're back in my house, under my roof and you are going to show some goddamn respect! Parents or not, we are responsible for you and we're going to get you back on track. So you're done running your mouth now. You talk about being a grown man, but all I see it a mouthy little boy. So it's time for you to grow up and I'm going to make sure it happens. Until then, you're a child in this house, understand?"

Steven started to reply, rude words already forming on his tongue. But Red cut him off, voice full of authority.

"Get your bag, march your ass up the stairs. You'll be staying in Eric's old room and it needs a good cleaning. I don't want to hear a word from you. Get to it."

Frustration threatened to boil over. But Steven bit it back, held his tongue and tried to remember his respect for the family that had taken him in when he was younger. He gave Red a curt nod, indicating he understood. Kitty looked between the two, eyes full of worry.

"I'll help you clean up, Steven," she offered.

"No, I'll do it," Steven replied, meeting Red's gaze. "No problem." He knew a challenge when he heard one, and Red was obviously testing him.

He grabbed his suitcase and headed upstairs, following the familiar route to Eric's room. Opening the door was like going back in time. Not much had changed, down to the Star Wars action figures gracing most available surfaces.

He threw his bag down, noting the cleaning supplies someone had placed in the corner. Still fighting back his anger, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and got to work.

Just an hour later, the room smelled of bleach and dust. The dust was because it had been sitting empty since Eric had moved out nearly four years ago. The bleach was due to Steven's half-hearted attempt to scrub down the surfaces of the room. It was giving him a headache.

Dropping the rag he'd been using, he slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall. Not only did his head hurt, but also he was starting to feel sick again.

He couldn't believe he was actually back in the Forman's home. He felt like he'd gone back in time, like he was just some dumb high-school kid again. Red had certainly treated him like one.

It was such crap. He'd been on his own for five years, taking care of himself just fine. But now everyone had decided his lifestyle choices, if you could call them that, were a problem.

He was pissed. But not enough to do anything drastic, not yet. He'd play Red's little game, be a good little boy. But only to get WB to shut-up and give him his damn job back.

Then he was out of Point Place, for good. If he never saw the small town again, it would be too soon.

Groaning, he forced himself to his feet. The room still needed some work, but it was good enough for a nap. The bed had fresh sheets, courtesy of Kitty.

Moving towards the bed, he managed to kick off his boots. He was suddenly exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. The clock showed that it was barely 6pm, but he didn't think he'd be able to stay up any longer.

As he pulled the sheets up over him, he was already falling asleep.


	4. Red's in Charge

Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...

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"_**All the people on the street, I hate you all.**_

_**And the people that I meet, I hate you all.**_

_**And the people that I know, I hate you all.**_

_**And the people that I don't, I hate you all."**_

_**I Hate Everyone by Get Set Go**_

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Steven woke the next morning with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up. It took a full minute for his mind to get in clear, working order and for the room to come into focus.

"Shit," he swore, glancing around the room. He'd hoped the whole thing was just a weird, alcohol-induced dream. Obviously not.

At some time during the night, someone, most likely Kitty, had left a glass of water on the side table. He gulped it down quickly, ignoring the stale taste. It quenched his thirst, but did nothing for his headache.

As he was considering going back to sleep, there was a sharp knock on the door which made Steven wince. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Get up. You've got some work to do," Red answered through the door. "I want you downstairs in five minutes."

"Don't I even get a shower?" Steven called to Red's departing footsteps. Of course, there was no answer.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, watching the colors explode behind his eyelids. On a normal day, he'd be in his dark office at the back of the store, enjoying a morning drink to take the edge off of his hangover. But he doubted that was going to happen today.

He had slept in his clothes and they felt stiff and itchy. Reaching for his bag, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He stumbled towards the bathroom, taking a moment to splash his face with ice-cold water in an attempt to wake up.

He hadn't shaved in days, and the stubble was threatening to become a full beard once more. He rubbed his face thoughtfully. Maybe he'd hunt down a razor later, but for the moment he was going to leave the facial hair. He wasn't trying to impress anyone here.

Someone had placed a toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste beside the sink. He'd have to remember to thank Kitty later. He'd forgotten how caring she truly was. A sick feeling of guilt threatened to turn his stomach. Kitty had been good to him, and still was, even after his years away.

Sighing, he faced his mirror image. It was the same reflection that met him every morning, that had met him every morning for years. "Morning, scumbag," he muttered to himself.

Whatever. He didn't want to think anymore, not about the past and not about the present. He wanted to change his clothes, brush his teeth, and get through the day. Not a lofty goal, but attainable, even by his slacker standards.

A few minutes later, with new clothes on and clean teeth, he made his way down the stairs. He came into the kitchen, expecting Red to be waiting. Instead he found Kitty, smiling brightly at him.

"Good morning!" she trilled excitedly, moving to take his arm. "I made you a big breakfast! I know Red has a lot for you to do today, so you'll need your strength!"

She led him to the kitchen table, which was covered in food. There were scrambled eggs, a whole plate of bacon and sausage, pancakes, toast, a bowl of shredded potatoes, and a single empty plate that she sat him in front of.

"Eat up," she encouraged.

He was hungry, he decided. And it did look good. Kitty stood beside him, waiting and watching. He tossed her a quick, thankful smile and then began to fill up his plate. It had been a long time since he'd eaten a homemade breakfast.

"It's good," he assured Kitty after a few bites. She beamed in response, taking a seat beside him.

"Did you sleep well?"

Steven nodded, "Sure. Thanks for the sheets. And the toothbrush."

"Well, of course! I'm just so glad to have you home," Kitty said, patting Steven's hand. "We've missed you." After a beat, she added, "All of us, especially Eric and Donna."

He glanced up at her, into her hopeful gaze, understanding the hidden message. "I didn't come here to see Eric and Donna," he said firmly. "I'm not going to see them."

Her smile dimmed, but only slightly. "We'll see," she said simply.

Red came into the kitchen through the sliding glass door, frowning deeply as he caught sight of the young man at the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, Steven. We've got a lot to do," he said.

Steven glanced over his shoulder, meeting Red's gaze. "Whatever," he shrugged, pushing another forkful of food into his mouth.

"I'll be in the garage. Wash the dishes and then come out," Red instructed.

"Wait," Steven said, shaking his head. "Wash the dishes? Then what? Scrub the toilet?"

"Red, really," Kitty began. "I can do that! No reason to make the boy do the dishes."

"Don't act as if it's beneath you, son. Wash the dishes." Red didn't wait to hear any more complaints, just turned and walked back out the door. As he was about to close it behind him, he said over his shoulder, "We'll talk about the toilet later."

"What is his problem?" Steven growled. He angrily took a bite of sausage, glancing at Kitty. "Why is he treating me like I'm a damn kid again?"

Kitty looked uncomfortable. "Well, um," she laughed nervously. "He's just trying to help!"

"Help? He's just getting a kick out of treating me like shit, since Eric's gone."

"Don't say that!" Kitty looked distressed and Steven sighed, knowing he was causing it.

"Whatever."

Steven stood, shoving his chair back angrily. His appetite had left with Red, leaving behind only a sickening sour feeling in his stomach. He moved to the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water.

Kitty stood beside him, watching over his shoulder as he angrily scrubbed the plates. "Honey, I know you're upset, but please don't break my dishes!" she urged him.

Steven was a bit more careful as he continued, but still terribly angry.

When the last dish was drying in the dish drain, Steven turned towards her. "He's an ass. And he expects me to sit around and take his shit forever," Steven said.

"He's just..."

"No. Don't defend him." Steven held up a hand to quiet Kitty. "I don't care if he's an ass. I'm not going to be here long. And when I leave, I'm done."

"Done?" Kitty frowned.

"I won't come back again."

"Don't say that!" Kitty cried, grabbing his arm. "Steven, this is your home!"

He met her gaze steadily as he said, "I will always appreciate what you've done for me, how much you cared for me. But I'm not a little boy anymore and this isn't my home."

Kitty's eyes filled with tears, but she swallowed them back. "I'm very sorry you feel that way, Steven. But you've still got a lot to learn." Without another word, she quickly walked away, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

He felt guilty for saying things that hurt her, but the truth was he felt antsy and uneasy with every passing moment in the Forman house. Once, it had felt like home. But he had said his goodbyes a long time ago and he hadn't ever planned on coming back.

If he could just talk to WB, convince him that things would be better if he let him come back. He could save up some money and then take off before WB played another 'daddy' stunt. Maybe head out to New York. Or go the other way entirely, out to California. Or maybe just drive until he felt like stopping. Whatever got him out from underneath everyone's thumb and on his own.

Steven was debating picking up the phone and dialing the record store's phone number when Red came back in. "Are you coming or what?" Red asked.

"Yeah, whatever," Steven shrugged, casting one last glance at the phone.

He followed Red into the garage. "The yard needs to be raked," Red said, handing the younger man a rake.

Steven gritted his teeth as he took the tool, holding back a wave of anger. Another stupid chore.

Twenty minutes later, there was a moderate pile of leaves growing beside the trashcan and a thick layer of the leaves still covering the ground. Red leaned against the wall, watching Steven work.

"I'm sick of this!" Steven cried suddenly, throwing the rake to the ground. "What is this suppose to teach me? Obedience?"

"Keep raking," Red ordered, straightening up to face the younger man.

"No!"

"Pick up the rake, Steven."

"Not until you answer me. What good does this do me? Raking damn leaves! Is this how I grow-up?" he sneered. Feeling petulant, he kicked the pile of leaves, watching them scatter across the grass.

"No, this isn't how you grow-up," Red shook his head. "This is how you keep busy and keep out of trouble. And it needs to be done. So pick up the rake."

They stared at each other for a moment. Steven's gaze was angry, but Red met it with a calm, even look. If it had been anyone else, Steven would have hit the other man long ago. But this was Red Forman, and that still meant something to him.

"Fine," Steven groaned, bending to pick up the fallen rake. "I'll do your damn chores."

"That's fine."

Steven was angry as he gripped the rake, moving it in short, hard bursts, but he was going to finish the job. Red watched him without a word, arms crossed in front of him. It was going to be a long day.


	5. Pushing

Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...

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"_**Everything I am and everything in me wants to be the one you wanted me to be."**_

_**When I'm Gone by Three Doors Down**_

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By dinnertime, Steven had first raked the lawn and then cut it, washed the car, and straightened up the neglected basement. Though his arms ached, his head felt remarkably clear. He moved the last box into place, glancing around the room.

It looked mildly better. Or at least more organized. Glad to finally be done, he collapsed onto the worn down, sunken couch. Though he was physically tired, his brain was still whirring, trying to process the events that had brought him back to Forman basement.

If he could just talk to WB, he knew he could fix the whole mess. Things could get back to normal, or close to it. He had a feeling getting in touch with WB was going to be a challenge, though.

Steven rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The day was almost done and he'd managed to avoid another fight with Red. As long as the older man kept his distance, Steven could focus on the task at hand and ignore the hot ball of anger in his chest. Red gave the anger something to focus on, to feed off of. As long as he stayed away, Steven was calm, in control.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, Steven heard distinct footsteps on the stairs and sighed, knowing who was coming.

"Had enough for today?" Red asked as he came down into the basement. "You can stop. There will be more to do tomorrow. Kitty's setting the table now."

"Whatever," Steven shrugged, standing and starting for the stairs.

"Actually, wait a moment," Red said, putting a hand on Steven's shoulder as he moved to pass. "There's something we need to get out. I think you and I need to have a little talk."

"A talk? About what?"

"Well, to start with, I think you owe me an explanation," Red said.

"Owe you?" Steven echoed. "What are you talking about?"

"Steven, the last time we saw you everything was fine. You'd made some dumb choices, sure. But we trusted you to work it out. And then you ran off in the middle of the night, like some dumbass kid trying to hide from his mistakes. And worse, after all we've done for you, you never gave us a reason."

"Why does there have to be a reason?" Steven shrugged, avoiding Red's gaze.

"Of course there is a reason. Look," Red sighed, uncomfortable with the emotionally charged conversation, but pushing on anyway. "You weren't exactly on the straight and narrow, but you had a good head on your shoulders. I knew you were going to be okay, eventually. But then you were just gone, without a word!"

"It had nothing to do with you. Don't take it so personally."

"Personally?" Red scoffed. "Don't take it personally? Are you kidding me? We practically raised you, son. You owed us more than that!"

"Owed you? So everything you did for me was just a favor, something you expected me to pay back?"

"No, no," Red shook his head. "Everything we did was because we chose to. But you threw it back in our faces like it was nothing and I want to know why. What was going on in that dumbass little brain?"

Steven snorted, "Fine, you want to know? You want to know why I left and never looked back? I left because I couldn't take this damn place for one more second! Pretending I was part of the perfect Forman family. I couldn't stand it!"

Red took his outburst in stride. "I know we're not your parents, but we took you in, son. You had nothing and we brought you into our home, into our lives. We deserved at least a goodbye."

"Yeah, you took in the little orphan boy. Does that help you fall asleep thinking about what good people you are?" Steven was angry now, sick of the disappointed tone in Red's voice. "You're no better than me! Look at your life, man! You're just pathetic, Middle America losers. This whole town is a shit stain on America!"

Red didn't flinch. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Don't give me that crap! You're not so high and mighty! This shitty town is rotting away any remnants of a brain you might have had," Steven laughed angrily. "Have you got something to say, big man? I just insulted you! Why not take a swing at me? Show me what a man you really are!"

Red shook his head slowly. "Real men don't need to resort to their fists every time. And I don't see a man in front of me. I see an angry little boy throwing a temper tantrum. If you want to run your mouth like you're a hotshot, be my guest. Insult me all you want. At the end of the day, I know who I am. But do you have any clue who you are?"

Indignant now, Steven stepped closer to Red. "I am a man. I've been living on my own for five years, without your help."

"You've been getting by. You've got no money, because you blew it all on booze. No friends, because you left them all behind. And now no job either because your own father couldn't stand your attitude any more. What sort of a man is that?"

"I..." Steven faltered. He was so angry, so upset, he couldn't think straight. "You think you know me, but you don't," he finally sneered. "Just because I'm not who you want me to be..."

"I have no claim on who you are. But are you who you want to be?" Red interrupted. "What sort of future do you have?"

"Screw my future! What do you want me to do? You want me to settle down, like Eric? Is he a real man?" he scoffed.

Red smiled, a dangerous, angry smile. "Whatever shortcomings Eric has, he's managed to create a life for himself that he can be proud of. Are you proud, Steven? Of anything?"

Air hissed through between Steven's gritted teeth as he struggled to hold in his boiling rage. "I don't have to listen to your bullshit anymore, Red," he growled.

"Then walk out the door, son," Red replied calmly. "Walk back to your promising future."

Silence fell heavy in the room. For a moment, Steven's fist clenched and he could feel the weight of the punch he was ready to throw. But as he looked back at the older man, calm and waiting with infinite patience, he felt a sudden shock of shame and guilt. It loosened his tense muscles, made his gaze drop to the floor. Red's gaze wasn't soft or loving. But Steven could feel the emotion behind it; feel the caring even in his hard words. And it made him feel sick over his behavior.

Feeling like a scolded child, he muttered, "Whatever."

After a moment, Red spoke in a quiet sort of voice. "You're right, Steven. You are an adult now and you make your own choices. But we're offering you a second chance and it's up to you to take it. I won't be this patient forever." He sighed. "Go wash up. Dinner should be ready."

As the older man walked back up the stairs, Steven was left alone. All the energy brought on by the fight drained out of him, and he stumbled towards the couch.

He felt an unusual emptiness in his chest, a cold, numbing feeling. Something was wrong. It was something he'd been hiding from for a long time. And something he wasn't ready to face yet. When he'd left, parts of him had shut down. It hadn't seemed like such a loss under the haze of alcohol. But sober, he realized how much had changed.

Steven shook his head, as if he could shake away the realizations. But they stuck with him, digging deeper into his mind. With a sudden burst of energy, he moved for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Kitty turned in surprise as he stomped into the kitchen. "Oh, dinner's almost..." she began.

He never gave her a chance to finish. He grabbed the handle for the fridge, yanking it open. Bottles clanked against one another under the force, but his focus was on a row of cans.

"Steven, wait!" Kitty called after him as he hurried from the room, a beer in each hand. He ignored her, moving quickly for the sanctuary of his room. At the last moment, he grabbed a bottle of tequila from a shelf. He planned to drink himself to sleep as quickly as possible.

They must have eaten dinner without him, he thought nearly an hour later. No one had come looking for him and the house was quiet now. If he listened closely, he could hear the muffled laugh track of some television show playing downstairs.

The empty cans lie on the floor where he'd tossed them. The bottle of tequila was in his hands, growing lighter by the minute. He took a quick swig, enjoying the warm burn and the numbing effect it had on him. His plan was working great. His mind was in too much of a haze to process any emotions. A perfect escape. He imagined Red would have a lot to say about his method, though.

When he heard footsteps outside his door, he readied himself for a fight, expecting the older man. But the footsteps were too soft and quick. When they paused outside of his door, he waited quietly.

"Steven, can I come in?" Kitty asked softly through the crack in the door.

"Whatever," he shrugged.

She stepped into the room, flipping on the light. He hadn't noticed the dark until then, but night had fallen long ago. In her hand was a covered plate of food. She placed it on the desk before moving towards him.

"It's ham," she said, sounding rather nervous.

"Fine," he shrugged. Her voice was fuzzy around the edges, thanks to the alcohol, as if she was calling to him from inside a tunnel.

"May I sit?" she asked after a moment.

"Sure."

Kitty sat beside him on the small bed, turning to face him. "I love you, Steven," she said, taking his free hand in hers. "And I want you to be happy. But you're not. You're just not happy. I can see it in your face, Steven."

"I'm fine," he shook his head, not liking where the conversation seemed to be headed. It was killing the softening effects of the tequila.

"No, you're not," she disagreed. "You use to smile."

"I'm not happy because I don't smile enough?"

She answered with a sad look. "You're not happy because this isn't the life you should have. Drinking your days away, all alone. This isn't what you need." She took the half empty bottle from his hand.

"I'm a big boy, Mrs. Forman," he replied.

"On the outside. But a mother knows her baby's heart," she said, touching his chest softly. "And inside you're still so young."

He wanted to protest, but his tongue seemed unwilling to cooperate. In fact, he had the sickening sensation that he might cry.

"The experiences you had when you were young, growing up with Edna and Bud, it shaped your view on life," Kitty continued. "When you came to us, so young and so hardened, I just loved you so much. I knew you needed it."

"But you grew-up a lot. Meeting your real father, being with Jackie. Those experiences changed you. And, in my own time, I realized that some day you wouldn't need my love. And that was a good thing. It meant I had done my job."

She looked at him, eyes full of sadness. "And then things changed. After things with Jackie went sour, and you came home married to that...that girl," she grimaced. "We thought it was just a little speed bump. A mistake that you would learn from. But you didn't, Steven."

"You left in the middle of the night. You left behind the life you had built here without a backward glance. You weren't the boy I had raised."

"Mrs. Forman..." he began, intending to say something, anything to cancel out the guilt that was winding it's way through his chest.

Kitty spoke over him, still holding onto his hand. "You need us," she said plainly. "If you push us away, you're on your own. And you're not ready. So stop pushing."

There was a single beat of silence before she moved. She leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his forehead, and then she was gone, taking the bottle of tequila with her. The brief conversation had erased the warm, sleepy feeling he'd gained from the alcohol. He found himself wide-awake.

Falling back onto the pillow, his gaze turned upwards. The walls he'd built to keep out his more important thoughts were crumbling at an alarming rate. He couldn't stop it now. Five years of regrets and anger and disappointment came crashing back. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
